Delusion in Death edahr-44

by J. D. Robb

  Weaver paused, voice shaking, eyes swimming. “I saw her on her way out to lunch, and I asked her to bring me a salad and a skinny latte. She never came back.”

  Her voice broke as she pressed a hand to her mouth. “I got busy, and didn’t notice. She never came back. Then we heard about the café.”

  “I’m sorry for your loss.”

  “I keep thinking, if I hadn’t held her up, hadn’t asked her to take the time to get my lunch, maybe she’d have been out before it started. Maybe she wouldn’t have been there when it happened.”

  “There’s no way of knowing.”

  “That’s the worst part.”

  Weaver opened double pocket doors. Inside Lewis Callaway stood beside the tall, slick-looking man Eve recognized as Vann from his ID shot.

  Vann wore a power suit, a black armband, and a rich man’s golden tan.

  The “small” conference room spread wider than the one she habitually used at Central. She wondered fleetingly how much acreage their large conference room took up. Windows ribboned two walls so New York shimmered outside the glass.

  The long, glossy table dominated, surrounded by cushy, highbacked chairs. The wall of screens was currently blank, but the black counter held two AutoChefs, silver water pitchers, glasses, and a bowl of fresh fruit.

  She took in the space and its fancy touches while she watched the men react to Roarke.

  Shoulders went back, chins lifted—and while both men started forward, Vann moved just a hair faster, and reached Roarke first.

  “An unexpected pleasure, even under the circumstances.” He offered his hand for a brisk, businesslike shake. “Stevenson Vann,” he added. “And this must be your lovely wife.”

  “This is Lieutenant Dallas,” Roarke responded, with just a hint of cool, before Eve could answer herself. “She’s in charge here.”

  “Of course. Lieutenant, thank you for meeting with us. It’s been a horrible two days.”

  “You spent part of them out of town.”

  “Yes. I shuttled back right after my presentation. Lew contacted me to tell me about Joe. I was at dinner with the client. We were both so shocked. It still doesn’t seem quite real. And now this new nightmare. Please, won’t you both sit. We’re so anxious to hear anything you can tell us, anything at all.”

  “Actually, I’d like to speak with you alone first.”

  He looked blank. “I’m sorry?”

  “I haven’t interviewed you as yet, Mr. Vann. We’ll take care of that now. Here, if we can have the room. Or your office might be easier.”

  “Oh, but couldn’t you just—” Weaver broke off, then simply sat down. “I’m sorry. I wish I could handle this better. I’m good in a crisis. I keep my head. But this … Can’t you tell us something?”

  “I’ll tell you what I can once I’ve gotten Mr. Vann’s statement. Let’s take it to your office,” she decided. “Roarke? With me.”

  She walked to the door, paused while the three exchanged looks.

  “No problem.” Salesman smile back in place, Vann crossed to the door. “It’s just down the hall.”

  As they walked, Roarke pulled out his PPC, gave it his attention. Rude, Eve thought. Just what she’d wanted.

  Eve noted nameplates: Callaway’s office, Cattery’s, a large area of cubes and assistants’ desks, then Vann’s—a corner deal easily three times the size of hers at Central.

  “I didn’t notice Ms. Weaver’s office,” Eve commented.

  “Oh, she’s on the other side of the department. Can I get you anything? Coffee?”

  “I’m good. Have a seat.” She gestured to one of the two visitor’s chairs facing the desk, gave Roarke a subtle signal.

  “You don’t mind, do you?” Roarke asked even as he sat at Vann’s desk.

  “No.” Obviously nonplussed, Vann spread his hands. “Help yourself.”

  “I’ll be recording this, and I’m going to read you your rights.”

  “What? Why?”

  “It’s routine, and for your protection.” She rattled off the Revised Miranda. “Do you understand your rights and obligations?”

  “Yes, of course, but—”

  “It’s just standard procedure. Why don’t you tell me about yesterday, before you left for your shuttle?”

  “I’m sure Nancy and Lew told you that we—and Joe—had been working on a major campaign for some weeks.”

  “Your campaign. You were on point.”

  “Yes. I actually pulled in the account, so I headed up the project. I was due to give the presentation first thing this morning, and traveled yesterday evening to have dinner with the client, talk it up. As I said, I was at dinner when Lew called to tell me about Joe.”

  “You all went to the bar together.”

  “That’s right. We knocked off a little early as we’d finished the project. We all wanted to celebrate, just have a drink—and talk it through again.”

  “Whose idea was it to go have a drink, and at that particular bar?”

  “I … I’m not sure. It was more or less a group decision. It’s the usual watering hole for the company. It’s so close, and it’s a nice spot. Joe may have suggested the drink, and we’d all just assumed that’s where. We left together, arrived together. Grabbed bar seats. Actually, it was already crowded, and I stood at the bar. I couldn’t stay long. I left a few minutes after five, took the car service to the transpo station.”

  “You must have had your presentation, your overnight, briefcase.”

  “In the car. I’d given all but my briefcase to the driver.”

  “Did anything strike you as odd or unusual at the bar?”

  “Nothing. It seemed like the typical happy hour crowd. I saw a few people from the office spread around.”

  “You go there a lot?”

  “Once or twice a week, yes. With coworkers, or with a client.”

  “So you see a lot of the same faces.”

  “Yeah. People you don’t know necessarily.”

  “And how did Joe get along with the rest of you, the others in the office?”

  “Joe? He was a go-to guy. If you needed an answer, an opinion, a little help, you could count on him.”

  “No problem with you coming in, snagging a corner office?”

  “Joe wasn’t like that.” He spread his hands. His wrist unit—platinum, she’d bet her ass—winked. “Listen, some people might think I got a leg up, but the fact is I’m good at what I do. I’ve proven myself.” He leaned forward now, exuding sincerity. “I don’t flaunt my connection with the top. I don’t have to.”

  “This major campaign, no problems with you taking point? Making the presentation solo.”

  “Like I said, I brought in the client. I don’t look for special treatment, but I don’t step back when I’ve earned something. I don’t understand what this has to do with what happened to Joe.”

  “Just getting a feel for the dynamics around here,” she said easily. “You’d understand that, getting a feel for how people work—alone and together. What they look for, what they want, how they work to get it.”

  His smile came back. “I’m in the wrong business if I don’t. It’s competitive, that’s the nature of the beast and what keeps things vital and fresh. But we know how to work together to create the best tools for the client.”

  “No friction?”

  “There’s always a certain amount of friction. It’s part of being competitive.” He glanced toward Roarke. “We’re one of the top marketing firms in New York for a reason. I’m sure Roarke would agree that a certain amount of friction brings the fire needed to create and satisfy.”

  Roarke spared Vann the briefest glance, said, “Hmmm.”

  “Were you and Joe friendly outside work?”

  “We didn’t really travel in the same circles, but we got along well. Our boys are about the same age, so we had that in common. His kid …” He trailed off a moment, looked away. “He’s got good kids. A nice place in Brooklyn. I took my son, Chase, to a
cookout there last summer. The boys hit it off. God.”

  “And Carly Fisher?”

  “Nancy’s girl.” He looked down at his hands. “I didn’t really know her. To speak to, of course, but she’d just been promoted, and we hadn’t worked together yet. Nancy’s just sick about what happened to her.”

  “Anyone else you’re friendly with here—outside the office?”

  “If you mean romantically, that’s sticky. I try to avoid tangling work with relationships.”

  “Okay.” Eve got to her feet. “We’ll finish up in the conference room.”

  “I hope I was helpful. I want to help—anything. All of us want to help.”

  Eve kept her eyes level with his. “I’m sure you do.”

  12

  Weaver and Callaway had their heads together when Eve walked back in. They each gave a quick, guilty start, then shifted in their chairs.

  “Don’t get up.” Eve flicked a hand, then chose a seat at their end of the table. “A couple of questions. Was it Joseph Cattery’s habit to stay later at the bar, alone?”

  “I … Not that I know of,” Weaver began, glanced to Callaway.

  “We grabbed after-work drinks there now and then,” Callaway stated. “Sometimes he stayed on, sometimes we left together. He was friendly with some of the regulars, so he might stay, hang with someone else.”

  “You left last, Mr. Callaway. Was he with anyone else, or talking to anyone else?”

  “The bartender. They always got into sports. But I didn’t notice him ‘with’ anyone, if that’s what you mean. We blew off some steam. I left. I was beat. I think I told you yesterday, he wanted another drink, made some noises about going for food, but I just wanted to get home and crash. I wish I’d taken him up on the dinner idea. We wouldn’t be here now.”

  “There was nothing odd in his behavior when you left him?”

  “No.” He shook his head, picked up a glass of water but didn’t drink. “I’ve thought and thought about those last few minutes, trying to remember all the little details. It was just usual, just another day. It was all small talk and shop talk. He was tired, too, but he just wasn’t ready to go home.”

  She reached in her file bag, pulled out Macie Snyder’s photo.

  “Did you see this woman at the bar?”

  “I don’t …” His brows knitted together. “I’m not sure. She looks familiar.”

  “I saw her.” Weaver took the photo. “I’ve seen her in the bar a few times. I’m sure I saw her in there yesterday.”

  “Must be why she looks familiar.”

  Vann angled his head. “Oh yeah. She was at a table with another woman and a couple of guys. Lots of laughing and flirting going on.”

  “Okay. How about this woman?”

  She offered the photo of Jeni Curve.

  “Jeni,” Nancy said immediately. “She delivers for Café West. She’s up here nearly every day for someone. Was she—”

  “Yes, I’m sorry.”

  “God.” Breath hitching, Weaver squeezed her eyes shut. “Dear God.”

  “Do both of you know her as well?” Eve asked the men.

  “Everybody knows Jeni,” Callaway said. “She’s a sweetheart, always ready to take the extra step, always cheerful. Steve had the flirt on with her.”

  “She’s dead,” Vann murmured staring at the photo. “We just got lunch from her a couple days ago. Locked in on the campaign, and she brought in our lunch order. Extra soy fries because she knows I like them. She’s dead.”

  He rose, walked over, poured water. “Sorry. It just hits. I got take-out from there one night last week, walked out just as she did—off her shift. I walked her home before I caught a cab. I walked her home, and I thought about talking my way up to her place. I think she’d have been open to it. But I had to work, so I let it go. She’s dead.”

  “You were interested in her?”

  “She’s beautiful and bright. Was. Yeah, I thought about it that night. Long day, take-out food because it’s going to be a long night of work. And here’s this bright, beautiful woman giving me all the right signals. I thought, well, why not. An impulse thing,” he said. “But the campaign.”

  “So the two of you never connected that way.”

  “No. I figured, plenty of time if the mood strikes again. That’s what you think,” he said as his grieving eyes met Eve’s. “There’s always plenty of time. Time for bright, beautiful women, or for another drink with a friend from work. Plenty of time to get your boys together at the park one Saturday. Goddamn it.”

  Saying nothing, Weaver rose, opened a glossy cabinet and took out a decanter. She poured two fingers of rich amber liquid, took it to Steve.

  “Thanks. Thanks, Nancy. I’m sorry,” he said to Eve. “It’s just hitting me. It’s real. It happened.”

  “No apology necessary. What about you, Mr. Callaway? How well did you know Jeni?”

  “I liked her. Everybody did. I never hit on her, if that’s what you mean. She was the delivery girl, and I liked her, but that’s it.”

  “Tell me about Carly Fisher.”

  Callaway looked mildly surprised by the request. “Another bright girl. Nancy’s protégée. Creative, hardworking.”

  “I’m going to have a drink, too.” Weaver went back to the decanter. “Anyone else?”

  “On duty,” Eve said simply.

  “Oh, right. Lew?”

  “No. Thanks.”

  “Would you say Carly was competitive?” Eve asked Lew.

  “Sure. You can’t make it in this business without an edge. She had one. She wanted to move up.”

  “Always eager to work,” Weaver added. “She’d take on anything. She liked to be busy. She pitched in with both of you.”

  “Yeah.” Vann sipped his drink, stared out the window.

  “And you?” Eve prompted Callaway.

  “If you asked her to get something done, she got it done. Nancy trained her, so she had a strong work ethic and plenty of ambition.”

  “She was going places,” Nancy said quietly. “I used to tell her she’d be running the department in ten years. Please, can’t you tell us the status? Isn’t there something you can tell us, or something we can do?”

  “I can tell you we’re pursuing every angle, avenue, and lead. That this investigation is my priority, and the priority of the team of police officers under my command.”

  “What leads?” Callaway demanded. “You’re asking us how well we knew the café’s delivery girl. Was she involved? And the other woman you showed us. Is she a suspect?”

  “I can’t answer questions specific to the ongoing investigation.”

  “We’re not just being nosy. We were at that bar, sitting with Joe. Sitting right there with … I left him there,” Callaway said, with a hint of bitterness. “I left him.”

  “Oh, Lew.” Nancy reached out to lay a hand on his arm.

  “I’ll never forget I left him there. Like you’ll never forget you asked Carly to get you a latte. We worked with people who died. Any one of us might have been in the café today. And what about tomorrow? I live in this neighborhood. I work here, eat here, shop here. It makes us a part of this.”

  Callaway glanced at his coworkers for confirmation. “It puts us in a position where we might be able to help, if we just knew the questions that need answering.”

  “I’ve asked you the questions I need answered at this time.”

  “But you won’t answer ours,” Weaver pointed out. “It’s just as Lew said. You asked about Jeni, specifically. We all knew her, all interacted with her, often daily. If she was somehow involved … She moved freely through these offices. Does that mean something could happen here? Right here?”

  “Jeni Curve died this afternoon,” Eve reminded her. “I will tell you security cameras verify she went into the café very shortly before the incident. Due to the timing, we’ll pursue a possible connection, and will thoroughly investigate.”

  “Lieutenant.” Callaway, brows knit again, ru
bbed at the back of his neck. “I understand you have an excellent reputation within the NYPSD, and you have resources,” he added with a sidelong glance at Roarke. “But it feels as though you’re conducting this as if you’re dealing with a standard homicide.”

  “There are no standard homicides.”

  “I’m sorry.” Again, he spread his hands. “I don’t mean to make light of what you do. But this is obviously some kind of terrorism. Nancy and I were just discussing that while you were talking to Steve. She—that is we—wondered how much experience you have in that area.”

  “You might ask those associated with the group formerly known as Cassandra.” Roarke spoke off-handedly, without looking up from his PPC.

  Eve spared him an annoyed glance, shifted her attention back to Callaway. “I can assure you that I and my team are well trained, and with the assistance of the HSO—”

  “The HSO is involved?” Nancy broke in. Eve allowed herself a brief wince.

  “Their involvement in this matter is not, at this time, a matter of public record. I’d appreciate your discretion. If the perpetrators learn of this new direction, it may impede the investigation.”

  She got to her feet. “This is all I can or will tell you at this time. If you think of or remember anything—any detail, however small—contact me. Your input will be given all due consideration. Otherwise, let us do our job.”

  “Lieutenant.” Weaver rose as well. “The public has a right to know. Innocent people are dead, and more could die. Some warning—”

  “What warning would you suggest?” Eve snapped back. “Lock yourselves in your homes? Flee the city? Expect the building where you live may be the next target. And don’t go out for any supplies before you leave or lock down because the store where you shop could be the next target? Panic’s exactly what these people want, and attention feeds them like candy. We’re going to do everything we can to avoid both. Unless and until you have something viable to offer to the investigation, I can’t give you more of my time.”